Engaged in Sin (22 page)

“I came to talk about my sister.”

It was the last thing Anne expected. The duke flopped back on the settee by the parlor’s fireplace and rubbed his temple as though it pounded with pain.

“Caro asked me not to tell anyone, but I’ve realized I’m going to lose my mind.” He gave a wry grin. “Finally, after everything you’ve done to convince me I’m not mad, my sister is driving me insane.” He tipped his head toward the rustle of her skirts, looking astonishingly helpless and undeniably appealing. “I need your help, angel. I don’t know where else to turn.”

“What is wrong?”

“Caro didn’t come here because of your letter. She came because she was running away from home. She is nine months pregnant and she has run away.”

The maid had left a tea tray. Despite her surprise at what he’d said, Anne poured a cup and pressed it to his hand. “Why did she do such a thing?”

“Only you would take that in stride and give me a cup of tea.” He moved to put it aside, but she stopped him.

“Well, a sip will help, Your Grace.” She stubbornly lifted the tea to his lips. Her heart gave a pang. Her mother used to say that after they ended up in the stews, as though a simple cup of tea could make up for fear and poverty.

At her command, he took a deep swallow. “Caro told me she came because, as she put it, her marriage is in tatters, her heart is broken, and she is about to bear the child of a man who no longer cares for her.”

“Her husband no longer cares for her?” She blinked. “He would have to be … an idiot. How could he not love your sister, who absolutely glows with beauty and is about to have his
baby
?”

The duke sighed. “I don’t know. I can’t get a coherent
explanation from her. She told me she could not stay at her home in London a minute longer. Her husband is the Earl of Cavendish, by the way. Their marriage, like all the ones in my immediate family, was a love match.”

“She would not tell you why she believes he doesn’t love her anymore?”

“She thought it might be because she is now the size of a house,” he answered.

“That can’t be possible,” she declared. “What sort of husband could be so shallow?”

He half-turned to her, his lip curved in a grim smile. “You give men more credit than we deserve. I’ve known gentlemen who spent the night in a brothel while their wife was at home laboring through the birth of a child.”

Anne couldn’t answer. Perhaps some of the gentlemen who had come to Madame’s had been doing that.

“Caro left her home and went to March House. That’s the ducal home in London, where my mother is living along with my two unmarried sisters, Lizzie and Win. Caro spent only two days there. Long enough to be given your letter to read—apparently every female in my family is speculating as to whom the anonymous author is.”

“I am sorry about that, but it is better than having them worry about you.”

His brows shot up. “Caro found she couldn’t tell our mother about her troubles. She came to me because she didn’t know where else to go. Since I’m a male, she thought I would understand the workings of her husband’s mind. She wants me to explain why he doesn’t care for her anymore and tell her how to win back his love. Since I won Rosalind’s love, she thinks I should know how to do it. But there’s a problem.…”

His features hardened, his expression grew resolute. “Since I can’t get Caro to calm down long enough to tell me exactly what Cavendish did, I’m guessing he was unfaithful. He broke my sister’s heart. Right now what I’d
like to do is kill him. Call him out and face him at forty paces on a foggy field.”

“Heavens, no!” Panic gripped her and she squeezed his arm. “You cannot do that! You could be killed. Or, if you aren’t, you’ll kill him. What good will that do your sister?”

“None, I agree. I could just pound some sense into his head.”

Anne thought of her parents—they solved all problems by talking to each other. “Has your sister spoken to her husband? She must have confronted him over this.”

“I have no idea. When she tries to explain, she either begins to cry or she gets embarrassed.
I’m
embarrassed every time we talk about this, so I can’t figure out what she’s trying to tell me.” He groaned and dropped his head into his hands. “She married for love, had her heart broken, and I’m the last person who knows how to heal from that. My solution was to go to war, and you know how well that went.” He looked up, gave a rueful, heartbreaking grin. “As best as I can tell, she wants to win the blackguard’s love, while I want to beat him senseless. I’m almost at the end of my rope. She asks my opinion, then she won’t listen to a word I say. She gets angry with me when I point out this is Cavendish’s fault, and somehow I become the villain.”

Anne smothered a smile at his exasperation.

“This is how I behaved with you, isn’t it, when we were arguing about my brandy? Why were you so tenacious and determined to help me, when I really deserved a kick in the backside?”

“Because you deserved to be helped.”

“I’m glad you were so stubborn, Cerise.” The duke shook his head. “My sister needs a woman to confide in, but there is no one.”

There was someone—Anne shook her head. Of course she could not speak to his sister. She was a fallen woman.
Besides, she knew nothing about loving husbands, and while she knew the details of her parents’ happy marriage, she had no idea how to salvage an unhappy one. “I think you must let your sister calm down; you must give her time, truly listen to her, and then try to talk to her.”

“I’ll have to struggle through this on my own, but I don’t know if I can. Charging into battle was easier than this.”

“You don’t have to struggle alone. You can come and talk to me whenever you need to.”

“I need you now.” He looked up, his eyes unmistakably hot with desire. “I’ve missed you for two days, angel. Go and lock the parlor door. I’ve hungered for the taste of you.”

She wanted him, but there was the fear of causing a scandal. “Here? In the parlor?”

“It’s more discreet than having you lead me up to your bedchamber.” A smile curved his lips. “This time you will have to be quiet.”

“Of course, Your Grace.”

He cocked his head. “I want you to call me Devon, angel. Would you do that for me?”

Anne caught her breath. To use his Christian name was an intimacy she had not expected. Suddenly she realized she had never been so intimate with a man—she’d never had a gentleman reveal his doubts and worries to her. No man had ever let her glimpse his heart.

As he wrapped his strong arms around her and drew her down on the settee, she whispered, “Yes, Your—Devon.”

“Good. Now ride me, angel. Do your magic.”

T FELT ILLICIT
yet special to even
think
of Devon’s Christian name, much less use it. Even Kat referred to lovers only by their titles.

Anne strode up a narrow path that led to the back of the inn—she had followed it as it carved straight borders for acres of fields, then wound through the forest, until her rumbling stomach demanded she return. She had walked for miles this morning, but no amount of beautiful views or vigorous exercise could stop her from thinking about Devon.

Her dreams used to be about freedom and independence. Now they were all about him. Over the last three days, Devon had told her a half dozen times that he missed her. Each time it both warmed her heart and gave it a sharp wrench. She had to remember it did not mean anything. She was not an innocent young lady anymore, who might take those words from a duke and spin an entire hopeful future involving matrimony and children. All protectors were fascinated with their mistresses at first, but the interest waned. If she used her wits and kept control of her heart, she could save herself.

After stamping mud from her boots on a flagstone,
Anne stepped inside the front door of the inn and took off her gloves.

“Oh, there you are, mum!” One of the maids rushed up and bobbed a hasty curtsy. “A visitor for you. Waiting upon you in the parlor.”

It had to be
Devon
. Anne’s heart soared, refusing to be controlled, but when she opened the parlor door she saw a rose-trimmed bonnet and ebony curls. Shock bolted her to the floor.

The duke’s sister spun on her chair, revealing blushing cheeks and violet eyes. “Oh, I’m so glad you’ve come. I feared you would choose not to see me.”

Anne blinked. Dimly, she remembered, through rising panic, that this lady was the Countess of Cavendish. “I cannot believe you have come to see me.” Somehow, manners had prevailed over shock, and she realized she was rising from a deep curtsy. Goodness, was it possible the duke’s sister did not know she was his mistress?

Her pulse thundered. This could hurt Devon’s sister. The gossip, the sniggers. If Devon found out … He had agreed she should be nowhere near his sister.

Anne swiftly closed the door. “There is something you must know. I am so very sorry, but once you know who I am, you will want to leave here—”

“You’re Devon’s mistress. I know that. Treadwell told me Devon had a ‘lady guest’ in the house. Of course, my brother stuttered out some nonsensical lie, but his blush made it obvious.”

“Your Ladyship, you must go. I wouldn’t want to taint you.”

Lady Cavendish waved her hand. “I’ve discovered there are some things far more important than proper behavior. Ladylike behavior might get a woman wed, but I’ve learned it doesn’t delight a husband.” She gave a surprisingly cynical laugh, one that made Anne’s heart lurch; such a beautiful lady should not be jaded.

The countess tipped up her chin, showing the strong, stubborn pride Anne saw in Devon. “I believe you are the only one who can help me. You must know all about seducing gentlemen. I want you to teach me.”

“I beg your pardon, Your Ladyship—”

“I desperately need to learn how to seduce my husband.”

Anne must have shown her shock, for Lady Cavendish’s expression suddenly crumpled. “You think I’m a fool, don’t you?” Devon’s sister covered her face with her hands and sobbed.

Forgetting propriety, Anne rushed over to the couch and wrapped her arm around the woman.

Anne firmly pushed the teacup and saucer into the countess’s bare hands, just as she had done for Devon. “This will make you feel better.” Of course it couldn’t. But the countess took it with a small, grateful smile and sipped.

Anne knew she should not even be in the same room with a countess, but the woman needed help. “Does your brother know you’ve come here?”

“Of course not. But I’m
desperate
. It’s obvious how infatuated my brother is with you. I hoped you would teach me your arts and allurements.”

“Teach you,” she repeated slowly, “my … my arts and allurements?”
Infatuated?

“I’ve lost my husband’s love and I can’t
bear
it anymore.”

Devon didn’t know his sister was here. Would he be angry she was speaking to the countess now? “What did you tell the duke?”

“I did not tell him anything. He was locked in his study. Treadwell confided to me that my brother does
not sleep at night and that he has nightmares. Apparently they have been worse since you left.”

Anne’s heart sank at that. Without her to read him to sleep or distract him with sex, he had gone backward. He hadn’t admitted that to her when he’d come to visit.

“I told Treadwell I was coming to the village to shop, of course.” The cup rattled in the saucer. “Perhaps I’m being foolish. Worrying about my husband’s love when Devon—”

“You are not being foolish, Your Ladyship.” Anne now saw the lines etched in the countess’s forehead, the shadows beneath her eyes. “Your brother has nightmares about the war, and I—I was trying to help ease those for him. Or at least help him cope with them.” Her cheeks were burning, because of course she was admitting she spent nights with Devon. She was the foolish one, given that his sister was married and knew what she was. But since the day she and her mother ended up in the slums, Anne had never even spoken to a respectable lady.

It occurred to her that, as a viscount’s daughter, she would have been very much like the duke’s sister now if Sebastian had not forced her mother and her to leave their home. Married. Perhaps expecting a child.

The countess set down her tea so swiftly, it sloshed to the saucer, then the table. She grasped Anne’s hands. “Thank you for helping my brother. Treadwell told me what you have done for him. How you’ve helped him cope with his blindness, and how he has grown more accepting of it.”

Admiration glowed in the countess’s eyes. Anne squirmed, a little uncomfortable. “I do not know if I have done that much, and I suspect time is responsible for much of what—”

“Treadwell does not think so. He also admitted you wrote the letter to my mother.”

Anne began to apologize, but Lady Cavendish squeezed her hands. “That letter gave my mother such relief and peace of mind. She has been so worried about Devon. She feared he was wounded far worse than she had heard, that he was more badly scarred than we had been told, or very ill, or perhaps that he had even lost his wits.”

The very thing he feared was happening to him.